Sympathy for the Devil
by The Sinful Archer
Summary: Even villains can fall in love. When Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov's world changes, he finds himself something he never thought he would be: lonely. Without Volgin to protect him, Raikov knows he has to get his lover back, no matter what it takes. (Rated M for language and some sexual themes, but there's no actual in depth smut.)
1. Chapter 1

Sympathy for the Devil

It was 3:02 PM when the ringing phone woke Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov from his nap. He almost didn't answer it, but when he realized that it might be his darling calling to tell him the good news. Ivan hopped out of bed (which was very large, and felt much emptier than it usually was because it wasn't being shared) and picked up the phone.

"Hello!" he singsonged, leaning against the wall and twirling the cord around his finger like a gossipy teenager (which he still kind of was). He was taken aback when the voice on the other end was not at all his darling's.

"Major Raikov, there's been an… accident. The Colonel isn't dead, but he won't wake up. We're taking him to a hospital now, and we thought you would want to know so you can come here." The voice of a soldier muttered, almost pitying. Raikov felt a lump rise in his throat and bit his lip. He paused a moment before responding, letting the information sink in. He was almost sure the soldier was expecting some kind of cruel, snarky response, but Raikov couldn't bring himself to think of one at the moment.

"O-okay…" he almost whispered. His voice sounded much smaller than it usually did, and it was a tone he usually reserved for quiet moments of alone time with his darling Volgin. The man on the other end hung up, and Raikov sank down against the wall, sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chin. He pressed his face into them, wishing desperately that this were some kind of nightmare. He took a shaky breath and bit his arm hard enough to break the skin and make it bleed. Definitely not a dream. Raikov stood up shakily and pulled on his coat and boots, trudging out into the cold air of the Russian countryside. He let the cold wind whip around him, sending snowflakes through his pale blonde hair and making him remember the days of his childhood where he and his brothers would play in the snow together. Those were the days when his parents were still alive, and Volgin had been a close friend of theirs, occasionally babysitting Ivan and his two older brothers. Raikov snapped out of his thoughts as a particularly large gust of wind blew him back a few steps. He had to get to his darling, and fast.

It was times like this when Raikov was grateful for his and Volgin's considerable wealth. He sat in the back of a plane, looking out over the grey skies and small houses as they flew over them. He bit at his thumbnail, gradually escalating to sucking his thumb. It was a habit he had, and Volgin had been trying to help him stop, but Raikov figured a little self-indulgence couldn't hurt at a time like this. They landed in a relatively short amount of time, and a group of soldiers was there to escort Raikov to the car that would take him to the hospital.

The car was practically a limousine, and almost as soon as he got on, someone was putting a blanket around his shoulders and handing him a mug of something warm to drink. Raikov didn't want it, but he drank anyway. It was better than sucking his thumb in front of all these people. He wasn't paying much attention to the taste, but he was almost positive it was tea with honey and bourbon. It was an old remedy his mother used to give him and his brothers when they were children and had caught colds from staying outside in the Russian winter too long. Nobody said anything, and the drive was felt much longer than it really was.

When they reached the hospital, Raikov shoved his empty mug into someone's hands and eagerly hopped out of the car, holding the blanket around his shoulders. He ran inside, pushing past the doors with his shoulders and running up to the small reception desk.

"Miss, you have to let me in. I'm looking for someone. He just got here a few hours ago. Please, you have to let me see him!" Raikov was practically begging at this point. The woman looked at him over glasses, and saw the concern in his eyes.

"Name?" she asked, her mouth almost a straight line.

"Mine or his?" Raikov sighed impatiently.

"Yours, then his." She replied. Raikov huffed and pushed his hair out of his eyes.

"I'm Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov, looking for Yevgeny Borisovitch Volgin." He said with pleading eyes, leaning forward on the desk and biting his lip. The woman looked through some papers, and it seemed to Raikov that she was purposefully taking a long time. She appeared to find what she was looking for and raised her eyebrows before looking up at Raikov again.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen! Now let me see him, for God's sake!" She looked almost suspicious.

"Are you his son, or-?"

"Whatever gets me in the fastest!" he said, exasperated. The woman sighed and shrugged, looking back down at her paperwork.

"Go on ahead. He's room 207, down the hall to the left." Raikov said his thanks and took off down the hall, blanket and coat flapping behind him like he was some kind of exotic bird.

The room was too cold; Raikov could tell right away. He saw his darling lying in bed, and couldn't even begin to describe the overwhelming tidal wave of emotions he felt when he saw him. He let out a cry of anguish that sounded like a noise a wounded animal would make and threw himself onto the larger man. His tears slipped down his cheeks and he sobbed loudly into Volgin's chest when he realized there was no familiar static electricity to make his hair slightly stand up or give him pleasant zap on the cheek or nose. He stood up, wiping his tears on his sleeves and slowly taking the blanket off his shoulders and resting it on Volgin.

"I thought… Maybe you'd be cold…" he sniffled, smiling sadly and glancing at the heart monitor.

 _Beep… beep…_

The noise was faint, but it was there. Raikov breathed a sigh of relief and looked back at his lover's sleeping face. It was almost haunting seeing Volgin so calm and eerily still. Raikov took one of the man's large hands and clasped it in two of his own. "Please be okay. For me. We've got a whole life together still, and there's no way you're going to accept defeat at the hands of that filthy American… You have to be okay. You just have to. I won't let you die on me. You take care of me, so now it's my turn." He said, climbing up onto the hospital bed. He pulled some of the blanket over himself and curled up next to Volgin, wrapping his arms around the man as much as he could. He let his eyes slip closed, and when the nurse came in to check on Volgin, she was surprised to see Raikov curled up against him with tear stains down his pale face.


	2. Chapter 2

By day 7, things were beginning to become routine for Raikov. He had started staying in a nearby hotel and coming to visit Volgin every day as soon as he woke up (which he had started doing much earlier than he used to) and had something to eat. He would walk into the hospital with a bag containing a book he was working on reading to Volgin, some snacks to last him throughout the day (though he was eating less and less as time went by), and usually some small flower or nice-looking rock Raikov had found on the way there. The latter he would place on the small table by Volgin's bed. He had begun stopping to chat with the receptionist before going to visit his lover, and had learned that she was a very nice woman named Josephine. She had two children, and Raikov was beginning to form something close to a friendship with her. She didn't know that he wasn't really Volgin's son, of course. God only knew how she would react if she found out. No, Raikov was leading her on to believe that he was Volgin's son, and that his last name was different because his mother had divorced and remarried. This wasn't the truth, of course. His parents had disappeared when he was 15, leaving his older brothers Alyosha (then 20) and Stas (then 18) to take care of him. They hadn't found out that their parents were dead until a year later, and that year had been the year Volgin had taken Raikov under his wing. From there, it was a series of very interesting and unorthodox (yet somehow still romantic) events that led Raikov to where he was today.

When Raikov stepped into Volgin's room that morning, he opened the curtains to let in some sunshine and set his bag down next to Volgin's bed.

"Good morning, Darling!" he sighed, pressing a kiss against Volgin's cheek and sitting down in his usual chair, plopping the dog-eared old book on his lap. The book is question was Vladimir Nabokov's _Lolita_ , a favorite of Raikov's. He was about to begin reading it when he looked over at his comatose lover. He looked at his calm face, somewhat ashen and eyes closed. He looked peaceful, and Raikov felt the words die in his throat. He set the book down and reached out to gently place a hand on his darling's scarred cheek. It looked almost like he was asleep, like he did on the rare but freezing cold winter mornings when Raikov woke up before Volgin and admired how handsome he was. He would trace every feature of his face with his eyes, etching them into his memory. He would trace over his scars gently, and along his jawline. He would trace along the cupid's bow of Volgin's lips, over his nose, and admire his eyelashes. When he was awake, Volgin would hardly ever let Raikov look at him this closely, thinking himself a monster. Raikov wished Volgin's eyes would just… open. So Raikov could see the mesmerizing green-grey eyes and kiss his lips until they were both sore. He wanted to feel Volgin's strong arms around him and find the familiar rush of exhilaration when the taller man would pick him up and spin him around, making Raikov giggle until he got dizzy. He missed how it felt when Volgin would pin him down on the bed or the floor and kiss him on his neck after that, pulling more giggles from the boy and holding him close and tight, yet gently, like one would hold a fine china doll.

Raikov missed that. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands on that filthy American and… Well, he didn't know what he'd do, but it certainly wouldn't be nice! He crawled up on the bed, plopping himself down on Volgin's lap like he usually did when they were alone together. He reached down and clasped Volgin's large hands in his much smaller ones, pulling them up to his chest and pressing them against his heart.

"Are you in there, Yevgeny?" Raikov whispered. He hardly ever called Volgin by his first name, and when he did it was usually accompanied by a stern look at the least or a slap across the face (not that Raikov minded) at the most. "I've been thinking of going back to ballet school in France… I know you always loved to see me dance. Can I tell you a secret? I always missed it. The dancing, I mean. I never really felt like war was my kind of place. I always missed being the swan you fell in love with…" He sighed, his eyes closing and tears making quiet plopping noises as they fell onto his pants. "Can you feel my heart beating, Yevgeny?" he asked, his voice barely audible, "It keeps going for you. Every beat of my heart is because I know you're still in there, fighting to see me again. I hope you wake up… Please, for me. If for nobody else, me." Raikov leaned forward and pressed his ear against Volgin's chest so he could hear his faint heartbeat.

"I love you…" he sniffled.

This had been going on for a month now, and Raikov was dealing poorly, to say the least. Every day he would come to visit, but he wasn't eating nearly as much as he used to. Sleep, as well, had almost become a thing of the past. Raikov was only sleeping when he absolutely couldn't keep his eyes open anymore; the rest of the time was devoted to researching and trying everything he could to get Volgin to wake up. One cold morning, he was curled up on the end of the hospital bed with books surrounding him when a word caught his eye.

 _Morphine._

Oh yes, that was a word Raikov knew well. It was a word that brought with it a phantom sting of needles in his arm, of hazy summer nights and Volgin drawing a small amount of blood into the syringe to make sure it was in the vein, and then taking his sweet time before easing down the plunger. Raikov briefly wondered how easy it would be to sneak some of the stuff and-

Oh no, he thought, I gave that up. I don't do that kind of thing anymore. Well, it was usually true. Morphine had been something he decided to quit, though he did still indulge from time to time. He closed the book and shook his head. No, morphine was not a slippery slope he would let himself fall down again. He picked up another book and opened it to a random page. He flipped through it leisurely, and before he knew it, his eyes were getting heavy. Raikov set it down and yawned, moving to curl up next to Volgin.

"I really do hope you're still fighting for me in there," he muttered, nuzzling his nose against Volgin's neck and sighing heavily. His eyes slipped closed, and he let the warm arms of sleep enfold him.


	3. Chapter 3

_The warm summer breeze brought with it the gentle scent of honeysuckle, and Ivan sat on the hill between Alyosha and Stas. The older boys spread out a blanket on the top of the hill, and Ivan lied down on it as they wrapped it around him like a cocoon._

 _"Ready?" Aly asked as he and Stas got in position to push their brother down the hill. Ivan nodded eagerly, and they gave him a gentle push. The world spun around and around, and Ivan giggled uncontrollably as grass flew through the air and he continued to roll down the hill. When he slowed to a stop, the blanket unrolled and he continued to laugh as he lay in the grass, the world moving in his vision. He sat up and began to pull grass out of his hair, and a shadow seemed to swallow the sun. Ivan looked up to see a close friend of his parents, whom he knew as Mr. Volgin. The man crouched down and pushed hair out of the boy's face, slowly beginning to remove blades of grass and twigs from the boy's pale blonde hair. Ivan closed his eyes and leaned into the man's warm touch. He couldn't have been more than 5 years old._

 _When Ivan opened his eyes, the scene was different. He was 12 years old again, and sitting backstage in the school of ballet he had been so proud to attend all those years ago. He felt the tights scratching his legs, his toe shoes almost weighing him down. He knew this memory well. It was the night he had played the swan. He stood, and knew what to do. He entered the stage and danced, twirling and being dipped and held like it was what he was born to do. The music swelled, and this was it. His grand finale. The moment of truth. He pranced his way up to the ledge, and did everything he had been training to do for months, and as the music began to fade, he leaned back and fell into darkness, knowing the mat would be there to catch him._

 _Instead of cloth, however, he was met with strong arms. He opened his eyes and looked up into the familiar scarred face of his parents' friend. He knew this was not how the night had really played out, but this was how he had always wished it had. The man smiled and held Ivan like he was the most precious thing in the world, as if the moment he let go, Ivan would disappear. Ivan sat up and wrapped his arms around the man's neck, and the applause echoing through the theatre could never hold a candle to what this man made him feel. This was why he danced: to feel beautiful. To be as graceful and perfect as a swan. Ivan pressed his lips against the man's and the world around him seemed to disappear, all except the fireworks going off in his mind and the butterflies making his stomach do its own kind of dance._

Raikov sat up and the cold air in the room felt like it was freezing the tears on his face. He took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled his knees up to his chin, trying to make himself as small as possible. He pressed his palms against his eyes, sobbing softly against his hands and shivering. After a few minutes of simply sitting there, crying, he decided to see what the source of the cold was. He walked over to the window and saw it opened slightly, blowing the curtains around and letting in small amounts of snow. Raikov slammed it closed with certain finality, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He leaned against the wall and assessed his options. He knew sleep was not an option that would make him feel any better, so that left him with one other thing to help him dull the pain. He pulled the spare blanket off of Volgin, muttering a timid apology and wrapping it around his shoulders, and his pale hair seemed to glow in the moonlight.

Raikov padded down the empty, dimly lit hallways in his socks, looking for anything that could possibly hold morphine. He checked every supply closet, knowing that Josephine would never let him have it without him actually needing it. Finally, he struck gold. Raikov plucked the bottle from its shelf and found an unused needle. He pulled down a roll of gauze and wrapped it tight around his upper arm to more easily find his vein, plunging the needle into the bottle and filling it up. He decided to do this in the privacy of Volgin's room, and quietly tiptoed back, shutting the door and sitting down. He found an old scar from a past needle, pierced it, and drew back slightly, watching a gush of blood fill the tip of the syringe before he pressed down and let the familiarly pleasant buzz overtake him. Raikov let out an audible sigh and leaned back against the chair he was in, tossing the needle haphazardly in the garbage and stowing the bottle away under the bed. Bliss, sweet bliss, washed over his entire body, and he unraveled the gauze, throwing it away as well. He knew there would be questions, he knew there would be consequences, but when he felt better than he had in a long, long time, he didn't care.


	4. Chapter 4

Raikov woke up as pale light, obscured by clouds, shone through the window. He sat up, wiping drool off the corner of his mouth and immediately searching for Volgin. His eyes focused on the still sleeping man, and he sighed again. Now that the blissful high of the drug was gone, Raikov began to think about what to do with his day. He knew he couldn't stay in the hospital forever, so he decided he needed to get out for a while. He got up and dressed with learned military efficiency, pulling on clothes that once fit him well enough to almost tease people who saw him, but the same clothes were now somewhat baggy on this thinner frame. Josephine had noticed, and was slightly concerned for the boy because he was losing weight so quickly, dark circles now almost constantly under his eyes. Raikov pulled on a large jacket, and the sleeves easily reached down past his fingers, and the bottom was practically at his knees. This was not because he'd lost weight, but because the jacket had used to belong to Volgin. It was somewhat of a gift a few years back, and Raikov still treasured it. He walked into the lobby, shoving his hands into the pockets and finding his wallet there. He knew he had enough money to get by for now, but he didn't want to have to ask his brothers for any.

He walked into town, trudging through snow and not caring if the jacket was warm enough or not. He stopped in a small convenience store and bought a pack of cigarettes and some matches. He figured while still unhealthy, it was a little better to just be smoking rather than stealing from a hospital. After he paid, he stepped out into an alley that had a small amount of snowdrifts and leaned against the wall to smoke. He inhaled deeply, watching the smoke and his breath (chilled by the cold air) intermingle as they drifted up into the air. Raikov turned his head to look when he heard someone whistle sharply to get his attention. The person in question was a rough-looking man, and Raikov assumed he was probably homeless. He figured he didn't look much better, so he didn't say anything rude.

"Got one of those to spare for me, beautiful?" the man asked, making Raikov narrow his eyes and raise an eyebrow.

"Excuse _you_ , but I am NOT a woman." He huffed, taking another drag off his cigarette.

"Could've fooled me," the man muttered, stepping closer. Raikov straightened up to his full height (which was only 5'7", and nothing too intimidating) and dropped the cigarette before he was done with it, grinding it under the heel of his boot.

"What did you just say?" He demanded, stepping up to the man.

"You heard me, kid." The man said. Raikov was almost never one to deny a fight, and this clown was practically _begging_ for Raikov to deck him. What the hell, he needed something to take his mind off things.

"Look, I'm not in the mood for your shit, so if you're not going to take that back and walk away, you're going to get your ass kicked."

"Aw, that's cute. Where did you learn those words? Day-care while your daddy was off working because he didn't love you?"

"I don't know, jackass. Where'd you learn your manners? The fucking barn animals that raised you?" The man's face fell, and he grabbed Raikov by the front of his jacket, picking him up so his feet couldn't touch the ground.

"You're dead fucking meat, you little bitch." The man growled, and Raikov let out a laugh that sounded like tinkling bells in the frosty air.

"Seriously? You don't know a thing about fighting, do you? You gave me a huge advantage just now." He said, and swung his leg forward, kicking the man in his most sensitive place. He dropped Raikov, who hit the ground with a gasp as the air left his lungs. He pulled himself up, and walked over to the man, who had gotten himself up too. The man swung unexpectedly, and Raikov felt a gush of blood and the man's fist connected with his nose. They brawled for several minutes until the police came to drag the two bloodied men off to the station. Raikov was smiling when they cuffed him and shoved him in the back of the car.

Raikov got one call. He knew he had to make it worth it. He thought of calling one of his brothers, but quickly dismissed it. They were both too far away to be of any actual help to him, so he decided to call the hospital and have Josephine come get him. She was the only person he could think of. Raikov sat in a holding cell next to the other man, and his feet didn't touch the floor when he sat on the bench in the cell. He figured that when he got back to his hotel, he would call one of his brothers. This whole ordeal had made him realize that he actually missed them a lot.

"Well, well, well," sighed a voice, and Raikov looked up to see Josephine looking angry with her arms crossed, "I didn't think you were the fighting type, honey."  
"You must not know me very well then." Raikov grumbled as the police let him out of his cell with a warning.

Josephine drove him to his hotel, and Raikov went up to his room, cold, stiff fingers fumbling with the key as he unlocked the door. He flopped down on the bed and kicked off his boots, stripping down to just his underwear and socks. He curled up under the blankets and grabbed the phone to call his brothers. Who first? He debated it for a moment before going with Alyosha first since he was the oldest. Raikov punched in the number.

"Hello?" his brother's familiar voice inquired.

"A-Aly? It's Ivan. I wanted to call and say hi." There was a small noise on the other end, and it was almost a gasp. Raikov hadn't called either of his brothers since he left at age 15, and he knew he should have, but…

"Ivan! Oh, God, how are you? We missed you so much! We haven't heard from you in ages! Where are you? Are you okay? Is Mr. Volgin taking good care of you?" the older Raikov rushed, obviously very concerned about his baby brother.

"I'm good," Ivan chuckled, "I'm in… uh… Well, I don't quite know exactly where I am, but I'm okay, really. Volgin is… He's fine. We're fine. He's been very good to me." He said, fumbling over his words. The conversation was short, but it made Ivan feel worlds better than he had before. It was moments like this when he remembered that he was still only 17. After he hung up with Alyosha, he called Stas, and the conversation went about the same, but Ivan found out that his brother was engaged to a woman named Darya.

"Stas, that's good! I'm happy for you! I think Mama and Papa would be too." A small silence followed, but his brother returned quickly.

"Yes, I think so too! Oh, Ivan, you should meet her. She's amazing! Speaking of, have you found a special woman in the time you've been gone?" Ivan actually snorted in laughter. Sometimes he forgot how oblivious his brothers could be when it came to how incredibly gay he was.

"Ah, no… But there's someone…" He accidentally let it slip, being too damn in love and preoccupied with concern about Volgin to hold himself back.

"Oh? What is her name?" Ivan felt his stomach churn. His sexuality wasn't something he liked to talk about, especially with his cookie-cutter straight brothers.

"Well, that's the problem…" he breathed, his heart pounding and head spinning, "This person isn't exactly… um… female…" He said, feeling the familiar nausea he felt when he ate something bad. Silence. Ivan felt tears well up. This was where he got disowned, shamed, thrown in jail without Volgin there to protect him. He just knew it.

"…O-oh?" Stas said, sounding more than a little uneasy himself, "Is it someone we-?"

"Yes! Okay, you've got me. I'm not going to lie anymore. I'm a homosexual! There, I said it! Now you know why I never had a girlfriend. It's part of the reason I left! Volgin and I, we were in love… I'm sorry… He took me in, and… I love him, Stas. He's the best thing that ever happened to me! I don't care if you and Alyosha disown me. Hell, I probably deserve it! I know I'm a disgusting monster! So go ahead, tell him. You can cut me off, you can turn me in, you can do anything you want, but that won't change the fact that I love him! He's my whole world, Stas. He keeps me going, he's the air I breathe, he's the love of my life, and he's probably going to die now! So… there. I said it." He sobbed, tears dripping hot and fast down Ivan's cheeks. Another uncomfortable silence followed, and Ivan didn't want to have to hear his brother's words.

"…Ivan…" Stas' voice made him uneasy again, and he slammed down the phone, putting his face in his hands. He ran to the bathroom and threw up, sobbing. He flushed the toilet and then brushed his teeth, washing his mouth out. He pulled on a hotel-issued robe and crawled into bed, his eyes sore from crying. The phone kept ringing, but Ivan ignored it. He didn't want to hear it, and he didn't want to be crucified just for falling in love. He didn't want to be the weak link that destroyed his family's good-standing reputation. The ringing stopped around 2 AM, and Ivan fell asleep around 3:02.


	5. Chapter 5

_Ivan was running, running for his life. The cold air stung his face as he went, and his breath came in clouds around his face, and he could hear the sound of boots behind him. He turned around to see his lover behind him, and the man caught up to him quickly, scooping Ivan up into his arms. The taller man ran as Ivan closed his eyes, catching his breath. He knew Volgin would protect him; knew he always would. He opened his eyes when he heard the man duck into a building. Volgin laid Ivan down gently, sitting down next to him._

 _"Will we be safe?" Ivan wondered aloud, breathing heavily._

 _"I don't know. I hope we will. I won't let anyone hurt you, Vanya. I promise I'll protect you, no matter what it takes."_

 _No matter what it takes…_

 _What it takes…_

 _The door was kicked down, and Ivan screamed as they were separated, dragged off to god only knew where, but they certainly wouldn't be together._

Ivan woke up in a cold sweat, sheets tangled around him. Lightning cracked outside, and Ivan felt bile rise in his throat again. He went to the bathroom and threw up, and after he cleaned out his mouth, he crawled into the shower. He turned up the heat of the water until it felt like acid dripping onto his skin. He laid down in the shower, just letting the water wash over him. He let tears mix with water as they streaked down his face, and he lay there and cried for a good few minutes.

When he got out, his skin was almost red, and the soft towel around him was a welcome sensation. Ivan dried off and got dressed, deciding to go to the hospital to visit Volgin. He walked there, the snow falling gently and sticking to his hair and eyelashes. As Ivan walked, he smoked, and stomped out the cigarette when he was outside the hospital. He made his way awkwardly past Josephine, who gave him a dirty look, and made his way to Volgin's room.

 _Empty._

Ivan's stomach clenched, and he checked the number on the door again. It was the same number and room he'd been visiting all along. He ran out to Josephine and slammed his fists down angrily on the desk. She looked up at him over her glasses, and raised an eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" She asked almost condescendingly.

"Cut the shit, Josephine." Ivan growled in a low voice, "Where is he?"

"They moved him from the burn ward to the coma unit. It happens, Honey. He's fine; don't worry. Room 837." Ivan shot her a glare and stepped into the elevator, hitting the button for the eighth floor. He caught his breath, clenching his fists until his knuckles were white. The elevator stopped, and he found the room, but he didn't calm down until he saw his darling safe and sound. He sat next to Volgin on the bed, and leaned down to kiss him. He knew Volgin couldn't reciprocate, but he wasn't doing it for that reason: he was doing it for peace of mind. Ivan curled up next to him under the covers, nuzzling against Volgin's neck again.

"I'm sorry, Yevgeny. I lost you, and I… Well, I'm just glad you're okay. Can you hear me? Are you still in there? You know… I won't stop waiting. I won't give up on you. I'll wait my entire life if I have to, and I promise I'll keep you safe, just like you did for me. I love you."

 _"You have to grow up eventually, you know." Ivan looked for the source of the voice, and connected it to a little boy, about 9 or 10 years old. The boy was short and had pale blonde hair and wide blue eyes. Ivan knew the little boy, for he was that little boy. The boy sat down next to Ivan, crossing his legs and looking up at him. Ivan bit his lip and looked away._

 _"I know, but it's… It's harder than you would think. Especially without him here with me." He replied._

 _"Oh yeah, him. Why'd you leave for him anyway?"_

 _"Because I love him, and he loves me."_

 _"Liar. You know he only keeps you around for entertainment. He'd kill you in a pinch without a second thought if he needed to."_

 _"Shut up, kid. You don't know anything."_

 _"I'm you, dumbass. Think about it, really: why would you ever leave your loving older brothers for a man more than 30 years older than you?"_

 _"Because… I don't know! Look, that isn't the issue. The issue is about me letting go and growing up."_

 _"Fine, change the subject. Look, you can't keep acting like a kid just because you never had to work a day in your life. You never did anything worthwhile, and you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Why do you refuse to grow up?"_

 _"I have no idea, honestly. I just feel safer when he's there to protect me, to care for me."_

 _"So you only like him because he protects you?"_

 _"No!" Ivan sighed, wanting nothing more than to shut the kid up. "I love him. He loves me. He makes me feel beautiful and perfect… I just want to feel like I matter, like I'm not just the useless baby brother with the silver spoon in his mouth."_

 _"Ah, so that's it. Well, look, Daddy isn't here to protect you anymore. Nobody is. You're alone, so you need to learn to grow up and act like am adult."_

 _"I know…"_

 _"Good. Glad we had this talk." The kid said, standing up. Ivan snorted angrily, lying down on the floor. The kid walked away, his shoes clicking against the floor until they faded into nothingness._


	6. Chapter 6

Ivan's eyes fluttered open, and he felt a lingering feeling of melancholy. The sunlight streaming in through the window seemed to make his hair glow. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, deciding to go into town that day. After a quick promise to Josephine that he wouldn't get in another fight, he was out and about.

Fall was coming, and Raikov could tell. Today, there was more slush than snow on the ground, and he kicked it along as he walked, reaching into his pockets and finding only a few coins there. How was he going to get money? He didn't exactly have much real job experience, and his talents were pretty limited. Ivan stopped on a corner and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag off it as he considered his options. There was ballet, a hobby he had pursued practically since he could toddle, but he figured that wasn't exactly a reasonable option. He couldn't sing particularly well or play any instruments, so he decided that street performing was out of the question as well. His eyes drifted, and landed on a woman, maybe a little older than him, standing on the street corner across from him. She was very pretty, but looked a little sickly, and was apparently flirting with almost every man who passed her. It looked like they were all denying her, until one man looked around and slipped her some money. She led him into a back alley, and Ivan felt an idea go off in his head.

"Oh," he whispered to himself, "I could do that."

The night was black and frosty, the only light coming from the moon and lights that lined the streets. Where, Ivan wondered, did shady people like to hang around? He checked alleys, dumpsters, and the like, looking for people desperate enough to give him money just so they could have their way with him. Ivan knew he was pretty; that was no secret. He knew he could tempt men and women alike with his feigned blue-eyed innocence and gentle, submissive demeanor. It wasn't hard, especially with Volgin, who was plenty happy to have his way with the boy, and when Ivan loved being controlled.

He snuck around the back of a convenience store, and knew he had struck gold. Men, women, and even children who were barely younger or older than his 17 years were all huddled together around fires, passing around cigarettes and other drugs Ivan had never even seen before. Most of the people ignored him, but a few cast their eyes over to him. He was a stark contrast to the haggard look of most of these people with his clean hair, face, and clothes, and hardly any bruises or scabs to speak of. He waved a gloved hand in greeting to show that he meant no harm and sat down primly next to a group of older men.

"Boy, it sure is c-cold out tonight." He said, playing up his chattering teeth and shivering body, batting his eyelashes. "I'd do just about _anything_ to get warm…" He scooted closer to the men, biting his lip in a seductive manner. He could tell he was getting some attention already. Good, he had missed having people eye him like this.

"You know, you can do anything you want to me for fifty…" He crooned. A few of the men rooted through their pockets casually, and there were quiet conversations about pooling together money. Ivan felt rather pleased with himself, and straightened up, puffing out his chest. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. After all, some of the men were at least bearably handsome. One man triumphantly pulled a 50 out of his pocket and smirked. Ivan stood up, and the man led him into a room with a worn bed, and the only light was the moon streaming in through the window. Ivan looked around, getting his bearings, and heard the door click shut and locked. The man walked up behind Ivan, wrapping strong arms around him and nuzzling against the boy's neck. Ivan sighed happily, letting himself pretend for a moment that this wasn't where he was, that he was back in the house he and Volgin shared, with the Colonel holding him close and whispering sweet nothings to him. The spell was broken, however, when the man's rough hands shoved Ivan onto the bed, making his stomach jump. Ivan clenched his fists and looked over at the clock on the wall. It was only 12:48, and bound to be a long night.  
***

It seemed like one after another the men came forward, some of them pooling money together and each wanting a turn with him. The night seemed to drag on, and when the last of the men had buckled his belt and filched one of Ivan's cigarettes, the boy's eyes drifted closed at last. The money was safely tucked into one of his boots, and he easily fell asleep.

Ivan woke up in the same bed, which smelled like sweat and sex, and quickly dressed, shivering from the cold. There was no radiator in the room, and he had been too tired last night to get back into his clothes. Right now, what Ivan wanted more than anything else was a warm shower, and maybe a cuddling session with Volgin. He pulled the money out of his boot and tucked it into his jacket pocket before he pulled on his socks and boots. He left the room, walking past all the junkies and homeless who mostly ignored him, but a few of the men he had spent time with last night gave him grins and winks. Ivan's stomach churned, and he kept walking, eyes straight ahead. He would find another place soon when he needed more money, but for now, what he had earned last night would be enough.

He walked back to the hotel and showered, washing away the cold, filth, and guilt that seemed to pursue him almost nonstop now. He dried and dressed, sitting on the bed and counting his earnings. 250 rubles in all, he counted, and was pleased with it. He shoved it into his jacket pocket and pulled on his gloves, deciding to walk to the hospital.

He stopped at a convenience store on the way, buying some snacks and a new pack of cigarettes. After he paid, tucked the food into his bag and cracked open the can of cheap beer he'd gotten. He wrinkled his nose as he drank, always having hated the taste. It was easy to lie about his age to get alcohol, especially considering how pretty he was. He finished off his beer outside of the hospital and walked in. Josephine greeted him, seeming to notice something was bothering Ivan.

"Morning, Ivan. Everything okay?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to play it off as he waited for the elevator.

"You look upset. Something bothering you?"

"No, I just… I didn't sleep well last night." It wasn't a lie, he figured. The elevator door opened, and Ivan stepped inside, putting on his best fake smile. Josephine gave him a suspicious look as the door closed. Ivan sighed and let his smile fall as the elevator leapt into motion.

"Good morning, Darling!" Ivan greeted his comatose lover cheerfully, kissing Volgin on the cheek. He sat on the edge of the bed and as he searched the man's face, his smile faltered. Guilt swept over him, making a shudder run through him. "I'm sorry…" he muttered, reaching out to hold Volgin's hand, "I had to… Please understand… It was the only way… I promise I'll try to find a real job. I will. I just don't know how." He sat down on the chair next to the bed, leaning his head against Volgin's arm. Outside, the snow began to blow around harder, growing into a storm, and Ivan wondered what the new season would bring: sorrow, or joy?


	7. Chapter 7

By November, nothing had improved. Ivan, against his better judgment, had sold himself a few more times in pinches. With a heavy heart, he began to worry that Volgin would never return to him. He tried to dismiss the thought, to forget the sadness, but it continued to hang around him, suffocating him like heavy fog. It forced its way into his throat and lungs, choking him until he couldn't breathe and had no choice but to lie awake and cry all night long. But he soldiered on, and began to think, for the first time in a very long time, about other things, other places. He wondered if he should go to France, the place he had once attended a ballet school. He had learned French, which made him fluent in three languages: Russian (his first), English, and French. France was decently far, far enough for him to start all over again if he wanted, become the ballerina he had always loved and missed being. But here, in this small, dirty Russian town… There was love. There was easy money and a way to keep an eye on his darling; there was a hotel he could stay at, a friend in the hospital to be found in Josephine. But here, there were also drugs, poverty, fights, and… a sense of danger. Ivan was split down the middle, not knowing whether or not he should stay here and keep an eye on Volgin or try and make a new life for himself. With the New Year in just a few months time, Ivan's birthday was fast approaching. It was on February 14th: Valentine's Day. This was a fact that he used to delight in, but now it only made him sad. All right then, he decided, if Volgin hadn't woken up by then, it was time to do some traveling.

Fall left without incident, and winter was already almost over as well. February seemed to happen suddenly, and as Ivan counted the days until Valentine's Day, he began making preparations to leave. It wasn't a hopeful situation, and Ivan had decided that France was his best bet. He packed his things and called ahead to rent an apartment, since it was cheaper than a hotel. He hadn't been in many years, and was planning on just doing some nice sightseeing. When his birthday reared its head, Ivan told Josephine he would call every day to check up on Volgin, and he took his things to the airport. The plane itself was nice, and he ordered wine until he felt a pleasant buzz. His eyelids grew heavy, and Ivan leaned against the window. Soon, he was asleep, and reliving another past memory.

 _Ivan sat in his dressing room after the performance, and sat down to look in the mirror at himself. He was panting, and his face was a little flushed and sweaty. This was the night he and Volgin had started their affair, Ivan knew in the back of his mind. He looked into his reflection's young blue eyes, remembering that he was only about 12 years old that night. A soft knock sounded on the door, and Ivan looked over at it._

 _"Come in!" he called. The door creaked as it was opened, with the man standing there almost having to duck to get through the doorway. Volgin shut and locked the door behind him, giving Ivan a smile._

 _"Hello," he greeted the boy, "you were a wonderful swan. You have a real talent." Ivan's reply slipped out of his mouth without him even having to think about it._

 _"Thank you…"_

 _"You're very beautiful, as well."_

 _"S-Sir?" Volgin stepped closer to the boy and ran his fingers through Ivan's soft hair._

 _"You're gorgeous, Ivan. I really mean it. Has anyone ever told you that?"_

 _"U-um… I… I don't know…"_

 _"Well, I'm rather infatuated with you. In fact, I came back here to give you something." Volgin continued, cupping Ivan's face in his hand and using the other to reach into his pocket, retrieving a small box with a ribbon tied around it._

 _"Oh, you didn't have t-!"_

 _"I wanted to. Don't worry, its fine. Open it." Ivan took the box and ran his fingertip over the smooth, silky ribbon. He untied it with a gentle tug, pulling it away from the box and then opening it._

 _"Oh, it's beautiful!" he gasped, pulling out the necklace. It was simple, with a delicate silver chain and a pendant shaped like a lightning bolt._

 _"Do you like it?" Volgin inquired, looking hopeful._

 _"Oh, I love it… Thank you so much, Mr. Volgin… Oh, here, could you put it on me? I want to wear it when we do the curtain call in a few minutes." Volgin nodded and took the necklace, removing his gloves and standing behind Ivan to properly put it on him. He slipped the cold metal around the boy's neck and clasped it in the back as Ivan held up his hair. Volgin let his fingers linger against Ivan's neck for a moment before leaning forward. Ivan felt a shiver run through his body when Volgin's breath hit his neck._

 _"Oh, Ivan… You've been driving me wild for so long… I have to have you…" He purred, leaning forward and brushing his lips against the boy's soft skin._

 _"H-have me?" Ivan stammered, shivering again as Volgin turned him again._

 _"Yes. I have to have you. I'm falling for you, you sweet young thing. Do you have any idea what you do to me, you gorgeous little nymphet?" He leaned forward and let his lips brush against Ivan's when he spoke again, "I'm going to ruin you."_

 _When their lips touched, Ivan could have sworn he felt a spark._

The hostess shook Ivan awake, and he sat up, stretching. The plane had landed, and he was in France. He hailed a cab and it took him to his destination, a small apartment building. The first thing he did was call Josephine to let her know he'd made it and to check on Volgin.

"Hi Josephine. It's Ivan. How is he?"

"He's just fine, honey, same as usual. How are you? Did you get there alright?"

"I'm fine, yeah. I'm going to do some sightseeing tonight."

"That's nice! I wish I could go to France at the drop of a hat like that. It would be nice to do some travelling once in awhile, but I've got kids to look after. Well, I've got to get back to work, but thank you for calling me!"

"Anytime. Bye, Josie."

"Bye! Have fun!" Ivan hung up, and flopped down on the bed in the room. It was plush and comfortable, and he could have fallen asleep right then and there, but he wanted to stay awake a little longer and just be alone with his thoughts. He looked up at the ceiling, finding shapes in the plaster and letting his mind wander. What was he going to do here? How long would he stay? These were questions that could be answered at a later time, but another question seemed to be forcing itself into his thoughts persistently.

 _How long are you going to be able to stay faithful? You're already borderline failing at that, selling your body and all._

Ivan tried to ignore it, but it was like trying to ignore a bullet in his brain: it just couldn't be done. He didn't know what France would present him with, what trials and tests he might face. Something in him, however, seemed to be resiliently screaming that he would always be loyal to Volgin: his first, his only love.

 _Liar._

He really had to get that voice in the back of his head to shut up.


	8. Chapter 8

Days began to pass, all a dull blur, not clearly defined by events. Those days turned from weeks to months, and seasons began to pass. Ivan called every day, but the calls were becoming shorter, less conversational. They were almost like something mandatory, just another part of his daily routine, like brushing his teeth or shaving. The seasons seemed to pass by in the background, and Ivan's life felt like a sting of pointless days and nights passing before his eyes. His next birthday passed without incident, and he was suddenly 21, feeling like he had only been 17 moments ago. He remembered that birthday well, having spent it with Volgin. The man had taken him out for a nice dinner, and then to see a ballet. Ivan had been promised that his 18th birthday would be even more special, but he had barely remembered the day. It was just another miserable bead on the string that was his life, like most days were becoming. It was on one of those seemingly unimportant days when he had gone out for groceries and that day had become a pearl among grains of sand.

The man had said, "I can fix all your problems," and offered him the needle. Ivan had tried so damn hard to deny, but… One dose was all he needed. He told himself that as the drug entered his system, sweet morphine bringing bliss and peace to his tired body. It was amazing, making him shiver and sigh in ecstasy, bringing back the memories again. The man was quickly becoming what Ivan could consider a friend, supplying him with morphine whenever he needed it. It was expensive, sure, but Ivan had enough… Enough for now, enough to satiate his craving for just one more day. He tried not to think about the day that he would run out.

Until it came, and when it came, it came with a vengeance, suddenly striking him down when he reached into his pocket to pay for his dose and making his heart skip a beat when his fingers only brushed against the material of the jacket.

"Marshall… I can get the money. I swear I can. Just give me the morphine, please." Ivan uttered the words desperately, a cold sweat breaking out all over his skin.

"Sorry, kid. You know the rules." Ivan felt his knees weaken, and he dropped to them in front of the man. He inhaled, he exhaled, and the actions meant nothing to him anymore. He looked up at Marshall pleadingly, and the man seemed to consider him for a moment. Ivan felt the man's fingers run through his silky hair as he hummed thoughtfully. "You know, I think there is something you could do…" Ivan nodded breathlessly.

"Anything. I'll do anything."

The last thing he remembered after that was the sound of a zipper.

 _Moscow. February 14_ _th_ _, 1963._

 _The men seemed almost like a father in son and appearance, and it would be easy to dismiss them as such without seeing the small intimate gestures they exchanged. The tender moments they held hands, the lingering glances and smiles, the whispered words that made the small man giggle like a schoolgirl, the way they stood almost too close together, and the possessive way the older man kept so close to his counterpart all were dead giveaways to the much deeper side of their camaraderie. Still, they were subtle enough that nobody would notice unless they really put their thoughts to it. The men walked along in the snow, the shorter seemed to be much more bundled up than the taller, and they held hands as they walked. The older man seemed to tower above everyone else, but his paramour was just small enough that nobody paid the two much mind as a pair._

 _"Vanya, where would you like to go for your birthday?"_

 _"Paris," sighed the boy dreamily. The man chuckled deeply._

 _"Maybe next year, Kitten. What do you want to do here while we're out and about?"_

 _"I don't know, honestly. You know me: I'm always up for food. We could go see what's in the theatres. That could be nice."_

 _"Alright, you can pick." The men walked through the snow to the small theatre, and the boy's eyes landed on one poster almost immediately._

 _"I didn't know they'd made Lolita into a movie!" he gasped, "Please, we have to go see it! It's my favorite book!"_

 _"Alright, Vanya. If it's that important to you." The man paid and led the boy inside. They sat in seats next to each other and held hands in the dark. When the lights went down and it was pitch black for a moment before the screen lit up, the boy pressed his lips against his lover's._

 _"Thank you, Daddy." He murmured, sitting back down before the screen lit up. The man gripped his armrests tighter._

Ivan woke up someplace he didn't recognize, and this was becoming almost normal for him. He sat up, seeing Marshall lying in the bed next to him. Ivan briefly had a thought. What if he were to take all of Marshall's stash? After that, he could hop on a plane or drive until he found himself in unfamiliar territory and… Well, he didn't have a plan after that. Maybe he could sell the drugs to get some money and pray that Marshall wouldn't find him wherever the hell he ended up. Ivan stood up and snuck quietly to the man's coat and rooted through the pockets. Damn, what kind of dealer just carried drugs around with him everywhere? Ivan knew he couldn't get away with carrying everything in open daylight, so he ended up just getting dressed and pulling the coat over himself. It was still cold enough for him to need it, so he left easily, not rousing any suspicions.

First things first, he decided: where the hell was he? He knew it couldn't have been far from where he and Marshall usually made their transactions. His eyes flitted to a sign signifying a bus station, so he sat and waited at the stop for the bus. He got on and slipped some of Marshall's pocket change to the driver, deciding to just get off the farthest away he could. He found an empty seat and curled up, knees pulled up to his chin and coat wrapped around his small frame. His eyes slipped closed and Ivan leaned his head back on the seat, letting himself calm down for a moment to rest his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

_Darkness._

 _It seemed to envelop the world, strangling and suffocating Ivan as his eyes opened. Looking around, it was all pitch black. Suddenly, his stomach lurched and he sat up. Something, he could tell, was very wrong. He didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten there, and he felt fingers reach up to his face. He didn't realize they were his until he pulled the burlap sack off his face, blinding him with light momentarily. As his eyes adjusted, Ivan blinked and assessed his surroundings. The room he was in what white and tiled, almost like a hospital room. That alone made Ivan uneasy, thinking of his lover alone in a hospital. He stood up on weak legs, and his eyes focused on a clock as his head spun. 3:02, but was it early morning or late afternoon? As Ivan pondered this, his legs seemed to move without much thought or input from him. His fingers wrapped around a cold doorknob, and it seemed almost too cold. He turned it and stepped into a hall, white and similar in look to the room he'd just been in._

 _The light fixtures hung low, and the hall, while incredibly white and clean, seemed almost suspiciously so. Ivan knew for a fact that the only places kept this clean were places where terrible things had happened. Even the corners were scrubbed clean as the walls, which was even more suspicious. Nervously, Ivan walked through the hall, still not entirely in control of his actions. This was definitely not normal, and it left a bad taste in his mouth and made his stomach churn. He walked through a labyrinth-like maze of halls, past doors with numbers and unfamiliar words and names on them. Some seemed to be in entirely different languages. Ivan stopped, at last, in front of a door that was slightly unassuming, but almost seemed to radiate heat. He turned to look at it, and saw small charred markings in some places on the door, and something seemed to be screaming at him to open it. The moment he closed his hand around the doorknob, he pulled back and let out a cry of pain. The metal was scalding hot, and Ivan saw that his hand was bright pink from the heat._

 _"Damn," he cursed quietly, but held his breath when he heard a noise from behind the door. Something almost like an animal, but not quite… Ivan took another hesitant step forward, and then realized there was a peephole. Had that been there before? He couldn't remember, but couldn't bring himself to worry about it at that time. He stood on his tiptoes and closed one eye, peeking through the glass. His heart almost stopped. His throat constricted and his mouth seemed to dry up. It couldn't be, but… Was it? Volgin? He shook his head and looked again. There was no mistaking it now, the familiar scars along his arms and face, the hair… Ivan didn't know why the doorknob was so hot, until he noticed what Volgin was doing. The man looked at his hand, and Ivan watched in horror and amazement, as it seemed to glow like fire or lava. It spread down Volgin's arm through the rest of his body, lastly his eyes, making them glow like embers. Ivan stepped back, aghast. Whatever was in there was most definitely not his darling. That left only more questions, however. Who had done this to him? Why? How? And where was this place? WHAT was it? Ivan's eyes flickered to the bottom of the door and he watched as light shone from behind it. His legs were moving before he knew what had hit him, and he found himself in a bathroom, splashing his face with cold water at a sink. He looked into a mirror and jumped in surprise, having expected to see his own face. The person in the mirror stared at him, shocked and bewildered, but only for a moment._

 _And then the moment was over, and everything was blackness once again.1_

Ivan sat up on the bus; bile in his throat and a whisper on his lips that he couldn't quite remember after it escaped him. Taking a shaky breath, he realized it was night, and that he was one of the last two people on the bus. Oddly enough, the only other person was a woman who looked to be about his age. Her hair was short and the color of chocolate, and Ivan noticed that she seemed to be looking at him fixedly. He cocked an eyebrow, and tilted his head to the side inquisitively. She looked at him and as the bus stopped, she jerked her head in a motion for him to get off of it with her. He nodded, agreeing to do so partially in fear and partially out of curiosity. She looked like the kind of woman that wasn't afraid of anything and would hurt anyone who wronged her. Ivan admired people like that. He got off the bus behind her and she led him to an alley.

"Who are you?" He asked in French, assuming she spoke it, seeing as they were in France and all.

"That's not important. You're Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov, right?" She asked in near-flawless Russian. Ivan took a step back and responded in the same tongue.

"Yes, I am. Why?"

"Four years ago you ran away to be with Colonel Volgin, right?"

"Yes…"

"And he went into a coma two years ago."

"Why are you telling me things I already know?"

"Because," the woman sighed, "I know where he is. He's awake, and I'm here to take you to him. Consider it a favor."

"Wh-what? No, Josephine would have told me if he'd woken up. Who are you?"

"I told you, it doesn't matter who I am, and I hate to break it to you, but Josephine isn't who she says she is." Ivan took a step back.

"Well I don't know who you are either!" He defended, squaring up to fight if he needed to. "How can I trust you if you won't even tell me who you are?" The woman leaned against a wall and huffed impatiently.

"Fine. You can call me Katya."

"Alright. Well, I'll go with you, but you have to explain everything on the way." Katya nodded and pulled a couple train tickets out of her pocket.

"I'll sure as hell try, but I won't make any promises. I have orders to take you to Moscow, and that's it." She handed him a ticket and shoved the remaining one back into her pocket, instructing Ivan to pack his things and meet her at the train station tomorrow morning if he ever wanted to see Volgin again. He hailed a cab and ended up getting home at around midnight. Should he go? The thought raced through his mind over and over, and he found himself absentmindedly packing his things into a suitcase. He paused when his fingers grazed against the cover of a worn, beaten novel. Picking it up, he looked at the faded cursive gold lettering along the cover.

 _Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov_

And he had his answer.


	10. Chapter 10

The seats of the train were plush, but the upholstery was stiff and matted. All they had to eat on the train were small things like fruits and crackers. Ivan ignored the snacks in favor of finding the compartment that Katya was in. He found her in a back corner one, and sat across from her, a table between them. Ivan sat down, half expecting her to speak, and being slightly offended when she didn't. Pulling out his book and pretending to read, he took the moment to study her. She had eyes that were almost green and almost blue, but it was hard to tell in the early dawn light. Her hair was a lighter brown than it had looked last night, and her lips were plush and pink. Ivan didn't consider himself to be attracted to both men and women like Volgin was, but Katya had a certain grace about her, and he could have seen himself making an exception. Her eyes flicked over to Ivan suddenly, and he quickly turned back to his book.

"Don't go falling for me now," she smirked, leaning back in her chair and studying him, "I'm taking you to your lover, remember?" Ivan huffed and felt his face warm.

"Don't flatter yourself. I was just waiting for you to say hello or something. It was a little rude of you to just ignore me, don't you think?" Katya looked at him, amused.

"You really do think you're something special, don't you?" She chuckled. Ivan glared at her and turned his eyes back to the book. Perhaps she wasn't quite the exception he'd thought. "Okay, okay, no need to get huffy. I was joking. What are you reading?" she asked, leaning forward and propping her chin up with her arms, elbows on the table.

"Lolita. It's my favorite book."

"Isn't that the one about the pedophile?" she replied, raising an eyebrow and giving a crooked grin.

"I suppose, if you want to put it in such a _vulgar_ way. It was kind of like our book, the colonel and I. He used to say I was his Lolita..." Ivan smiled fondly at the memories, tracing a finger over the page lovingly. Katya nodded slowly as if trying to understand his words.

"You really did love him, didn't you?" she asked, her voice a low murmur. Ivan nodded and looked up, really making sure their eyes met.

"I still do. I never stopped. I don't think I ever will." He said.

"That's a sweet sentiment. For your sake, I hope it all goes well when you see him again." Ivan nodded, wanting to prod further, but feeling his eyelids get heavy, he suddenly remembered his dream yesterday.

"Katya, on that bus yesterday, I fell asleep. And I had a dream. I was in a place that looked like a hospital, but not quite. And there was a charred door with a peephole. I looked through it and I saw…" He trailed off, looking at her probingly.

"Did… Did you see him? Your Colonel?" she asked, eyes wide. Ivan nodded, and watched her sit back in shock. "That's… I knew he was getting powerful, but… Damn… That's something completely different. Did he see you?"

"I don't think so. Why? What do you mean?"

"Well, this is kind of a long story…" Ivan gestured to the world flying by outside the window.

"I've got time, Katya. Trust me."

"Fine. Well, after you left, Josephine gave the order for them to take him someplace. I'll tell you about that in a second, but first let me explain who Josephine is. She was supposed to keep an eye on Volgin and send him off to that place when you stopped coming to visit. The one thing she didn't count on was you being so devoted and coming back day after day. When you left, she sent him to this place where they study people with powers like his, and how the desire for revenge can keep someone alive. He was so determined to get revenge on Naked Snake that it kept him alive. They managed to wake him up, but he was different. Him being struck by lightning had left him with a lot of burns, and he would have died if someone hadn't found a way to keep him alive. Even I don't fully know how they did it, but he's somewhere in between your Volgin and someone completely different. For all intents and purposes, they've started calling him the Man on Fire." Ivan sighed and sat back, rubbing his face tiredly. This was so much to take in so early in the morning.

"That explains what I saw, but not how I saw it," he said after a long silence.

"Well, since his determination to get revenge on Naked Snake for you was what kept him alive and they've altered him so much, I wouldn't be surprised if his mind was so focused on you it somehow managed to create a sort of psychic connection with you. Maybe he was trying to find you." Katya replied, shrugging and sitting back in defeat, apparently finished with her explanations. Ivan felt his stomach churn, and he closed his eyes.

"Okay, I need some time to process this," he sighed. Katya nodded and curled up in her seat, going back to staring out the window.

"Take all the time you need." Ivan closed his eyes and let the thoughts whirl around in his mind over and over. He didn't even know he'd fallen asleep until he seemed to suddenly be somewhere completely different.

 _Snow seemed to sting and burn Ivan's face as he stood there, a large coat draped over his shoulders. The wind was harsh, and sounded almost like it was screaming as it blew through the trees. Shielding his eyes, Ivan looked around, and saw something glowing like a campfire. He began to walk toward it against the icy wind, tears feeling like they were freezing to his cheeks. The shape, as Ivan approached it, seemed more and more human. It wasn't until he was a few feet away that he realized who it was._

 _"Yevgeny!" He cried, the wind and snow almost drowning out his voice. Almost. The man turned to look at him, and Ivan watched his breath puff out in front of him as the man walked forward. Suddenly, it was like they were crashing through space and time and all impossibilities to see each other, to hold on to each other. Arms, no longer burning like lava but emitting a soft glow to warm him, engulfed Ivan, and he shivered._

 _"Ivan… Oh, I have to see you again. Come find me, please. Hurry."_

 _"Where are you? Wherever you are, I'll go to you!" Their voices had to fight to be heard over the weather. Volgin's fingers brushed warmly against Ivan's cheek._

 _"You always were my most loyal pet, Ivan. Listen, this is a dream; they're going to come wake me up soon. This was the only way I could reach you. The girl will take you to me, but you have to trust her. Promise me, Ivan."_

 _"I'll do anything to see you again! I promise! I swear! Whatever it takes, I'll never stop fighting! I'll do whatever it takes!"_

 _Whatever it takes…_

 _What it takes…_


	11. Chapter 11

Ivan's eyes opened the moment he felt Katya shaking him.

"Get up! We have to hide!" She said, her voice an urgent whisper. Ivan locked eyes with her, catching his breath. He could almost swear he still had goosebumps from the cold.

"What? Why?" He whispered in return.

"Because there are people looking for you. Bad people who want to kill you. They stopped the train, and they're coming to search every car." Ivan bit his lip and nodded.

"Right. Lead the way." He muttered, and Katya took a moment to quickly peek outside.

"Nobody's coming. Okay, let's go. If we hurry, we can make it to the back." She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the hall, leading him through the long line of train cars until they reached the very last one. Katya opened the door and the two immediately felt a blast of cold wind. "Put on your jacket," Katya ordered, "go on up the ladder to the roof. I'll meet you there." She said, and Ivan did as he was told. His gloves didn't help much against the cold metal stinging his fingers as he climbed carefully up the icy ladder. Pulling himself up onto the roof, he took a moment to sit and look around at the winter countryside. Just being up there was terrifying and sickening. Katya soon joined him on the roof, and they took a moment to assess their options.

"So, are we just going to freeze up here until they leave?" Ivan sighed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. If his mother had been there, he knew she would have chastised him for it.

"I don't know. Once they get to the back, they might come and check up here. If that happens, we might have to fight. If not, we should be able to sneak back on once they le-" Katya's words were cut off as they heard several people coming up onto the roof.

"There they are!" A voice cried, and Katya pulled Ivan to his feet.

"Okay, fight it is." She huffed, sounding more inconvenienced than anything else. Without another word, she charged forward (which surprised Ivan, considering how coated with snow and ice the roof was) and almost immediately landed several blows to the guy's chest and face. Katya moved with the dizzying speed of a dancer, and Ivan merely watched her for a moment. She easily took care of the soldiers, and Ivan's eyes darted back and forth as he followed their limp (and hopefully only unconscious) bodies sliding off the roof to the side of the tracks. Once they were all taken care of, Katya simply stood there a moment, breathing heavily. She turned around, walked towards Ivan, and slapped him hard across the face.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?!" He cried, rubbing his cheek.

"Thanks for the help, asshole!" Katya cried, huffing angrily.

"You had it covered!" Ivan fumbled, not wanting to admit that he'd gotten distracted by her amazing speed and skill.

"Still, some fucking help would have been nice! Ugh, just… Come on. Let's get back inside the train. They're probably going to start soon. I'll clear things up with them. And when we get back, don't talk to me." Her words were a low growl as she turned and stomped back to the ladder, and Ivan followed her. He supposed she had a point, though. Why hadn't he helped her? He knew it had been more than just his fascination with her fighting. That was for sure. As he walked back behind her, he mulled over his feelings. It didn't hit him until they got back to their compartment (after Katya had given a long, fabricated explanation to the conductor) and Ivan had curled up under his blanket.

 _Because you were afraid._

The voice in his head that told him this felt like it wasn't entirely his, and Ivan wanted to deny it, but there was no other possible answer. But why was he afraid?

 _You're afraid that you don't have what it takes._

Ivan decided to ignore that one. It didn't make much sense.

 _What it takes._

 _What it takes…_

When he fell asleep again, he didn't dream.


	12. Chapter 12

When they reached their destination, they found a cheap motel to stay in. Ivan deposited his bag on one of the twin beds and flopped down, eager to get some rest on an actual bed.

"Hey, no sleeping." Katya chided, tossing one of her pillows onto the floor, "I've got some things to let you know. You're going to need to go by a different name, since you're kind of wanted."

"Wanted?"

"You see, it might surprise you to know that not everyone likes people who abuse their rank. Especially not people under that person." Ivan felt his face burn at her words. He wanted to make an excuse, to tell her that he'd only done it to win Volgin's favor, but he knew she wouldn't believe him. In her eyes, he was a spoiled brat who thought he owned the world.

"Go on," he muttered, tracing the pattern on the sheets with a finger.

"From now on, your name is Petrov Goupalova, got it? I don't want you getting yourself into any trouble while we're here. Remember, our objective is to find Volgin and get you two back together. That way you can talk him out of revenge and you two can move into a cabin and be disgustingly romantic for the rest of your days." She sighed, running her fingers through her short brown hair. Ivan ran over the words in his mind.

"Is that why you're helping me find him?"

"Look, he and I are after the same person, and I'd like to get to him first so I can get some good money. I'm not doing this for any reason other than that." Ivan nodded and reached over to put some coins into the radio on the wall. A song started up, and he curled up in bed, squeezing his eyes shut.

"We're going to get going tomorrow, so you've got time to rest and do whatever you want. I'm going out. I'll be back around five or six with dinner." Katya pulled her coat on and walked out the door with a key, and Ivan heard it lock behind her.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Ivan called over the deafening roar of wind and snow.

"Yes! I've told you about ten times now! Just trust me!" Katya responded, pulling her hood up over her head.

"Is that it up there?" Ivan inquired, pointing to a faintly visible structure. It was almost a silhouette against the silver sky, and somewhat camouflaged by the heavy blizzard.

"I think so." Katya said, reaching for Ivan's hand and pulling him forward through a snowdrift. There was so much of the damn stuff all over the place, Ivan would be happy never seeing it again. He knew that wasn't likely, but he couldn't help but dream.

The two travellers made slow progress through the storm, stopping occasionally to take sips of coffee from thermoses they'd brought with them. When they reached the building, it seemed impossibly tall and mysterious. There were no windows, and it was almost a pure concrete block. A heavy metal door was seemingly the only entrance, and from this distance, Katya and Ivan could see that it was heavily guarded.

"Great. How are we gonna get in now?" Ivan huffed, huddling behind a tall snowdrift with her.

"Easy. I go up and take them out."

"Or we could try being civil. Play up the lost travelers angle?" Katya gave him a look.

"Look, if you think that's going to work, you watch too many cartoons. You can try that if you're that gullible, but I'll stay up here and kick their asses if anything goes sour." She gave him a reassuring but sarcastic pat on the shoulder. "Go get 'em, Tiger!"

Five minutes of attempted flirting later, Katya had to come and take out the guards. After she'd successfully taken care of them, Ivan searched for keys, and got lucky on his third search.

"Ah-ha! Here's a key! Okay, so now what? Should we put on their uniforms?" Katya snorted at Ivan's lack of knowledge.

"Not unless you want to get frostbite. Here's the plan: I'll go inside and scope it out. We can sneak our way past any guards we encounter, and you tell me what room you remember from that dream. Bet my bottom dollar that's where they're keeping your boyfriend." Katya took the key and was inside the facility in less than a minute.

They edged along the walls, looking carefully around every corner before they traversed it. From his hazy memories of his dream, Ivan guided Katya to the room from his dream. As they neared it, Ivan felt his stomach twist. His head was suddenly hit with a splitting pain, and he doubled over from the sheer force of it.

"Gah! Oh, fuck…" He muttered. Words that were not his bounced around in his skull, pounding against it like hammers.

 _You're close, Ivan. So close! Come find me!_

He felt Katya's hand on his shoulder and looked up into her concerned eyes.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine. We're close, I can tell. We have to keep going." He growled, bracing himself on a wall and standing up slowly. Three halls later, they smelled smoke and Ivan found the charred door. His hand was on the doorknob before he could remember that it would probably be hot, and he let out a yelp like a kicked puppy before pulling his hand away swiftly. Where there had been the sound of pacing footsteps before, there was now silence. A few hesitant steps in the direction of the door as Ivan inspected his burned hand. Suddenly, a voice was audible from behind the charred wood.

"…Ivan? Is it really you?"

"Y-Yevgeny? Yes! Yes, it's me! It's Ivan! We're here to save you! Open the door!"

"Alright, stand aside. I'm going to kick it down." Ivan and Katya stepped back, and a few seconds later the door, smoking slightly, crashed into the wall.

A moment of stunned silence filled the hallway, but an imposing figure seemed to break it with the mere intimidation of being there. His eyes searched the hall, and landed on the boy. Ivan's heart nearly stopped. Everything seemed to stop, time standing still and everything but them fading away. Ivan was so overwhelmed when seeing Volgin for the first time in so long, and not lying comatose in a bed… All he could do was let out a small whimper. All the pain, all the heartache, all the things Ivan had had to do just to get by… All the nights of strangers with too-cold hands groping him for a fistful of cash, all the needles piercing skin seeming like the only way to ease the pain… They seemed to melt the second Ivan looked into those familiar, long-gone green-grey eyes. He knew he should be furious, he should scream and cry and pitch a fit, but oh god, to have those eyes on him again was more euphoric than Ivan could ever have dreamed. Deep down, some part of Ivan was terrified by that fact, but the rest of him was too busy weeping with joy to notice.

"Ivan? Oh my god, it _is_ you… Oh, Ivan… Oh my sweet little Lolita…" Volgin held his arms open, and before Ivan knew it he was running to him. He was running across time and space, crossing oceans and climbing mountains just to feel safe and warm and loved again. Tears streaked his face as he sprung up into Volgin's arms. The man squeezed Ivan against his chest and spun them around.

"Yevgeny… Oh my god, I can't believe you're alive… I never thought I would see you again! I waited so long… Oh my… Oh… Please don't ever leave me alone again…" The words came out between a chorus of sniffles, gasps, and sobs, but Volgin seemed to understand them all the same. He stroked his lover's hair soothingly, shushing him with quiet promises and murmurs of affection.

"I won't ever let you be sad and lonely again, Vanya… Oh, my sweet, loyal boy… My little angel… Precious pet… Darling nymphet…" At this point, even Volgin's voice was beginning to get shaky. Katya, who had been witness to this whole (in her opinion cheesy) affair, cleared her throat impatiently.

"Well this is all really cute and romantic, but the guards are probably going to be here any second. We need to get going." Volgin looked at her quizzically, and Ivan promised to explain everything later.

"Let's just go home, okay?" He sighed. Volgin nodded in response.


	13. Chapter 13

Their house had not been lived in for two years, but you really couldn't tell that much. It was surprisingly easy for them to just hide away, since nobody but them knew about the cabin anyway. Katya had said her goodbyes at the airport, promising to tie up the rest of the loose ends so the two of them could "get back to being gross lovebirds". Spring had come, not bringing much relief from the cold weather with it, but that was fine with Volgin and Raikov. That just meant they would be able to stay inside together more. After all, they had a lot of catching up to do. Volgin sat in the windowsill, an abandoned cup of coffee resting on the table next to it. He looked at his palm, making it fluctuate between its normal color and the magma color. Even he still had so many questions, despite Ivan urging him to just let the past four years go so they could pretend they never happened. Volgin knew they'd affected the boy more than he let on; he almost always changed the subject when Volgin asked what he'd been up to. Something was definitely wrong with Ivan, but Volgin didn't want to pressure him into talking about anything that would upset him.

"Good morning, Daddy!" He heard Ivan's cheerful voice greet him from the top of the stairs followed by sock-muffled footsteps thumping and thunking as Raikov came downstairs to join his paramour. Volgin reached out an arm as Ivan drew near, pulling his darling in for a loving embrace.

"Good morning, little one. How are you?" He replied, pressing a gentle kiss against Ivan's soft lips.

"Wonderful as usual," the boy sighed blissfully, leaning against Volgin. It was true, and the days since they'd been reunited were all wonderful, but something felt… off. Ivan couldn't place it, but something was wrong. He was trying to ignore it for now, but it was getting increasingly hard to do. He felt Volgin's strong arms around him, and tried to go back to being the wide-eyed innocent boy he was when they met, but he couldn't. No matter how much he wanted to go back to 1964, he couldn't, and that was the worst thing of all. He wondered, would Volgin still love him even now that he wasn't a child anymore? As he looked up at his lover, he wanted to dismiss the thought. Of course Volgin still loved him! He always would!

Right?

Ivan slowly, hesitantly pulled himself away from the man and walked over to a small radio they had sitting on the table, turning it on. It was in the middle of a relatively new song, and Ivan found himself kind of enjoying it as he walked over to begin making breakfast. The tune was jaunty and upbeat, but had an air of something sinister to it.

 _…Pleased to meet you_

 _Hope you guess my name_

 _But what's puzzling you_

 _Is the nature of my game…_

As he cut potatoes, Ivan felt Volgin come up behind him and wrap his arms around him. When the man pulled him close, Ivan felt almost a flash of something for a moment. Something almost sinister, and a sense of foreboding washed over him for a split second. It was as if something horrible was coming, and trying to warn Ivan of it. He brushed it off as just a sense of fear left from his lonely days. After all, those were behind him, weren't they?

 **TO BE CONTINUED…?**


End file.
